Tag Archives: loss

The god of only children

For some reason when I’m in Portland I feel like I can be more myself, maybe because no one knows me here. I wake and walk down César Chávez to the Starbucks in the cool, marine air. And remember the … Continue reading

Posted in death, prose, travel, writing | Tagged , , , , , , | 18 Comments

The black Opal kombi connection | Field notes from the Pacific coast

This is a series of posts I started in late May and plan to continue for 40 days, with a goal of hitting 50,000 words by July 5 (#33 post). It’s inspired by a three-day solo trek on the Washington … Continue reading

Posted in identity, parenting, travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

The Tower card, reversed | Field notes from the Pacific coast

This is a series of posts I started in late May and plan to continue for 40 days, with a goal of hitting 50,000 words by July 5 (#30 post). It’s inspired by a three-day solo trek on the Washington … Continue reading

Posted in death, Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Suicide in the Alps (father figure theme) | Field notes from the Pacific coast

This is a series of posts I started in late May and plan to continue for 40 days, with a goal of hitting 50,000 words by July 5 (at 30K!). It’s inspired by a three-day solo trek on the Washington … Continue reading

Posted in identity, Memoir, travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

That exquisite pose, prose

It wasn’t supposed to snow or smell like dog puke still in the corner of the sofa but it did both (it smelled and snowed), and I tightened my scarf and went out after dark but it was starting to … Continue reading

Posted in death, prose | Tagged , , , , , , | 8 Comments

The scene with my grandfather in a dream

In my dream my grandfather was there and I thought this is the last time I will see my grandfather and then he was gone flickering between a photo and a living, breathing grandfather and in the street a wake … Continue reading

Posted in parenting, poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , | 20 Comments

On the dead

Every other Saturday the gardeners come, but I will never know all their names. They are in the back now blowing out leaves, tearing out the dead, raking up beds, making it all go away— But the next morning the … Continue reading

Posted in death, poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | 19 Comments